White Season
by Lithrael
Summary: It's a month after Valentine's day. Arukenimon has taken no notice of Mummymon... And Mummymon has taken guitar lessons. Fluff!


Ready for another triple-dipped Mukeni fluff sundae? From a story outline by Lord Puppetmon. Lyrics copyright Frankie Valli, 1967.

* * *

Valentine's Day had come and gone, leaving no gifts behind for a certain loyal and devoted Undead type in a royal blue coat.

He'd been a little crestfallen, but his mood had remained undamaged. He hadn't been expecting anything, after all. He'd only hoped out of sheer wishful thinking. And looking on the bright side, she hadn't given him any of those dissapointing obligatory chocolates either - the kind that sat in massive discounted stacks for a few days after Valentine's or disappeared to a cool storeroom for another year, the kind whose boxes cluttered office trash bins for weeks after the holiday.

She hadn't bought anything - not for anyone. He'd never expected she would. Imagined, sure... He was good at daydreaming. But she wasn't really the giving type.

That had been a month ago. Today his goofy pickle-shaped coin bank was broken, and he was clutching a pretty little silver shopping bag.

He knew he wasn't really supposed to get her anything. She'd probably be insulted to be thanked for a gift she never gave. But he couldn't help it. Every moment of her presence felt like a gift to him. He had it bad.

He let his fingers rest on the tight strings of the old acoustic guitar he was carrying. He'd just gotten it, and a quick lesson, from a nervous-looking Gekomon who didn't seem to believe that Mummymon didn't intend to pound him ('perfect! you're a natural!' he'd cried, and run away).

He strummed it a little, quietly, as he walked. The sound caught the attention of a white-haired young woman sitting on some concrete steps a little ways ahead of him. She raised her head up from the book she was holding, looked around, and spotted him.

"Oh, it's you," she muttered.

"My dear," he greeted her in return, smiling brightly as he walked up.

"Eh," she replied, returning to her book.

So today was White Day. And here was Arukenimon.

She was wearing her old hat against the sun, but with a new outfit matched to it. He thought she looked absolutely adorable. He set the silver shopping bag down (Arukenimon glanced at it) and adjusted his grip on the guitar, carefully making a chord (it was hard with his gloves on) and strumming it again. It made a pleasant enough sound.

The book drooped in Arukenimon's hands and she gave him a look from beneath the brim of her hat. "What do you want, Mummymon?" she asked, like a chore.

"Just to give you something, dearest," he replied patiently.

"Fine then," she said, putting her book aside. "Make it quick."

He strummed the guitar again and cleared his throat.

Uh-oh, she thought.

As he broke into song, she put her face in her hand.

"You're just too good to be true - can't take my eyes off of you..."

His voice wasn't really so bad. He could carry a tune. But holy crap, the guitar... she grabbed the brim of her hat and pulled it down over her ears, grimacing. He didn't notice, too busy trying (and failing) to hit the next chord in the song. If he had any idea what he was doing, he hid it well.

"But if you feel like I feel, please let me know that it's real-"

"That's enough!" she yelled, shooting to her feet, tears of pain in her eyes. She was a musician herself - an artist! - she couldn't stand it.

Mummymon stopped, and his heart skipped a beat as he saw her watery eyes. She was really moved! "Sweetest Arukenimon," he began, lowering the guitar.

The next thing he knew, the instrument was gone from his hands, and with a musical 'kabong!' and a sharp pain to the top of his head, he was suddenly wearing a mess of splinters and strings.

"My dear?" he squeaked. What on earth had he done wrong..?

"You suck," she explained bluntly. "You play so bad it hurts. If you so much as touch a guitar in my presence again I'll scream."

"Oh..." he managed, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. He took another step and plonked himself down heavily on the concrete near her, the guitar neck dangling comically from his shoulders, and didn't notice as she sat back down. Her reaction had sapped all the strength from him. She wasn't moved. She didn't care. She probably didn't even know it was White Day.

Then he heard her speak his name, breaking his miserable reverie. He looked up to find Arukenimon's hand raised toward him, a dark chocolate truffle held in her slender white fingers. He glanced past it and saw the little silver bag was empty, and the white box that had been inside was sitting, open, on her lap.

"Well?" she prompted, waving the chocolate at him.

He looked into her eyes. She didn't react at all as he leaned towards her hand and delicately plucked the truffle from her fingers with his big white sharks' teeth.

It tasted like mint and semi-sweet chocolate.

Her attention had already returned to the box, choosing another one. "Ooh," she said a moment later, pleased, "raspberry." She took a full minute to eat it, savoring the rich flavor.

"At least you have some taste," she said at last, in as complimentary a tone as she ever used. She picked a square truffle and held it out to him like the first one. "These are quite good."

He took it from her fingers the same way, wondering if she could feel his breath. He didn't dare look her in the eyes this time, but with a glance, he caught her wearing a little smirk of a smile. It softened into the smallest upward curve of her lips as she browsed the rows of chocolates once again. Not the poetic lilt of a polite gesture, but the repressed hint of a big, pleasantly silly, rosy-cheeked smile.

Well, that was okay, he thought, breaking into an award-winningly warm and goofy grin of his own, his heart singing.

After all, his smile was big enough for the both of them.


End file.
